


A Complex Hero

by Aragarna



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Episode Tag, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24537010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aragarna/pseuds/Aragarna
Summary: John is enjoying therapy with Dr. Campbell more than he would have expected, or would care to admit. Meanwhile, Iris is enjoying John Riley's company more than she should, or would dare to admit.Now with a second chapter - the morning after! ;-)
Relationships: Iris Campbell/John Reese
Comments: 18
Kudos: 21
Collections: Exchange of Interest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [branwyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/branwyn/gifts).



> Many thanks to Talking2thesky and SavhCaro for the beta, and to the mods for organizing this exchange !

“Can I try? Dad, can I try, please?”

Connor sighed and leaned back in his car seat. He smiled and glanced at his son, who was staring at him expectantly from the passenger seat. John had been dying to try and drive the car for weeks, and he had been pestering his dad since he came back home. He knew it was just a matter of days before his dad yielded. His dad couldn’t refuse him anything.

“No way you’re gonna let this go, uh, Johnny?”

John vigorously shook his head, his heart racing with anticipation. Connor checked his mirror and stopped the car in the middle of the street, about fifty yards from their house. The street was calm, clear of all cars or pedestrians.

He nodded and gestured for John to get out of the car. “Okay, then.”

They switched sides and John climbed on the driver seat. He could barely see the road in front of the car’s hood.

“Seat belt,” his dad instructed. “Hands on 10 and 2. Eyes on the road.”

John put his seat belt on, and slid forward to reach the wheel. It was bigger than he thought. His feet couldn’t even reach the pedals. But nothing would prevent him from driving that car. His dad put the stick in “driving” mode and the car started moving forward. A big smile brightened John’s face as they passed their house.

After a moment, the car started drifting on the left, getting closer to the curbside.

“Careful,” Connor said.

John tried to correct the course, but the car was now drifting to the right. He tightened his grip on the wheel, doing his best to keep the car on the road.

“Not bad, kiddo,” Connor said. “Don’t cling on the wheel too hard.”

John was starting to get a good sense of the sensitivity of the wheel when suddenly, a car appeared at the end of the street. Not sure what he was supposed to do, John tried to reach for a pedal, like he’d seen his father do, and turned the wheel to give way to the other car. But the car didn’t react the way John expected. Taking a sharp turn toward the Martins’ house, the car jolted over the curbside. His father reached for the wheel, but it was too late. John closed his eyes and by reflex put his arms in front of his face right as the car hit the corner of the Martins’ house. The seat belt stopped him from hitting the air bag. For a second, John was breathless, disoriented, his ears ringing. The weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder helped him refocus. With the other hand, Connor did a quick check to make sure John wasn’t hurt.

“You okay, Johnny?”

John nodded. For a moment they remained silent, staring at the damaged wall of the Martins’ house. Finally, they looked at each other and burst into laughter.

“Oh boy, we are so in trouble!” Connor said, lightly ruffling John’s hair.

* * *

“Are you and your dad still in touch?”

John’s heart tightens. His smile fades, as does the memory of happier times. It’s so strange. He’s so used to not thinking about his childhood. He hasn’t always been a lone wolf. There was a time where he had a family. A normal little boy, innocent, and full of hope. Well, maybe not so innocent.

He glances at Iris. Deep inside his mind, an alarm rings. _She’s fishing_ , it says. _It’s an interrogation_. It could be Samaritan. Or his old friends at the CIA. The Feds, maybe, though less likely. He has a surprising number of enemies for someone who has been officially dead for a decade.

But somehow, he knows there’s no need to be alarmed. He’s good at reading people. And he can tell Iris does not interrogate. She’s not fishing for information. She asks, because she cares. And John has to admit, it is nice to have someone who listens to you. So, against all instincts, he ignores the signal. He chooses to answer honestly, even though honesty is not without pain.

“We lost him when I was pretty young. But I never talk about him,” he admits.

Images flashes before his eyes. A cold hospital corridor, doctors whispering in the distance, his mother collapsing in his sister’s arms. The rain at the funeral as the casket, with his Dad inside, was lowered down the dark hole. His realization, right there: Dad will never come home again. That feeling that his whole world was collapsing.

Yet, back then, he was far from imagining how many times history would repeat itself. After his dad, came his mother, and Sophie. Jessica. Now Shaw has gone missing.

“Have you lost a lot of people, John? But you don’t talk about any of them, do you?”

John shakes his head, only very slightly. He knows it’s not healthy, keeping them all inside of him. But he’s never known how else to deal with it. It’s been his coping mechanism. The only way he found to survive all this pain.

But somehow, those few sessions with Iris have done him some good. He wasn’t expecting anything to come out of those mandatory sessions forced on him by Internal Affairs, but he had to admit it wasn’t a bad thing after all. Iris understands him on a level very few people have. He doesn’t even have to explain. She gets him implicitly. Somehow, she sees right through him. She caught him lying within five minutes of their first session. And she knows he doesn’t really fit the profile to be a cop. Probably because of his difficulties with drawing inside the lines. But she’s accepted him for who he is, with no judgment. Maybe being caught in the middle of the action with him in the shooting with Lieutenant Silva helped her see that he is helping people. He hadn’t planned any of it, obviously, but it did make it easier for him to be honest during his sessions. She calls it a hero complex, but what matters is that she understands he helps people.

* * *

Detective John Riley might appear mysterious to most, but to any half decent psychiatrist, he’s quite easy to crack. Orphaned at a young age, develops a hero complex, defends the oppressed at school, joins the military, and finally law enforcement. Not exactly the lawful type, he probably likes the idea of being a cop more than actually being one. But he cares about people. Everything he does is driven by a need to protect people, to be a hero. He’s so textbook it’s almost cliché. Hyper vigilant, skilled and field-smart, very confident in the middle of the action. Yet, extremely reserved when it comes to sharing any personal sentiment. He’s taken the habit to bury and ignore everything - probably because he’s never been in an environment, professional or personal, that encouraged sharing feelings. Encouraging him to open up is a real challenge and this is precisely where Iris thinks she can help him.

Clinically, John is crystal clear. Personally, of course, it’s a bit more complicated. IA has transferred her a succinct case: John currently works homicide at the Eighth precinct. Before that, he was in Narcotics, where he did a long undercover mission. According to his file, this is likely where he developed his issues. But Iris suspects there is more to the story. She’s not even convinced he actually was undercover.

There lies the real mystery about John Riley: who is he, really? He’s lying about a lot of things and he does it with ease. She hasn’t caught him mixing things up. Yet, for a spy - she’s pretty sure he’s a spy of some sort - he is surprisingly easy to read. She can tell when he’s telling the truth, but those moments are extremely rare. Extracting truths from him requires a lot of patience. He’s very cautious about what he reveals. Trust doesn’t come easily to John Riley.

For some reason, she thinks of White Fang. The White Fang from the end of the book, who’s been so beaten up by life, who’s been forced to become a fight dog, who almost died from it. Rescued by a good man, White Fang slowly learns to trust and love again.

Iris wants to help John learn to trust and love again.

* * *

Harold and John are discussing their last number, Dr Edwards, when a chime on Harold’s laptop alerts them that the man has arrived home. Harold opens his laptop, revealing a surveillance video showing Edwards preparing a tuxedo and from the look of it, he’s up to no good.

“Edwards is making a presentation tonight, about his non-profit” Harold explains, showing the copy of an invitation to a gala called Second Light Foundation. “It appears to be an elite crowd. Admission will require a rather large donation from our already depleted funds.”

Money had become a recurring issue lately, and they had to be more careful about crashing high society parties. But this time, John might just have the right connections. A charity gala full of shrinks feels like too good an excuse to pass on.

“Save your money, Professor,” he says. “Might have an easier way to get in.”

He walks away from Harold, trying to find some privacy in the confined space of their headquarters. He can’t really explain why, but he who hasn’t kept anything secret from Harold, isn’t comfortable sharing anything about Iris. Hidden behind the subway car, he dials Iris’ number.

She picks up immediately.

“John? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She sounds surprised, but pleased.

“Iris,” John says. “Dr. Campbell. I was wondering if... I have a favor to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“I need to attend the Second Light Foundation gala tonight.”

“You do? Why?”

He probably should have thought of this before calling. “It’s for an investigation Lionel and I are working on,” he blurts. “You know we can’t divulge any details, but we would appreciate it if you could get us in.”

“Oh, so Detective Fusco will be there as well.”

John bites his lip. She sounds a little disappointed that he’s not inviting her on a date. An actual date with Iris is a nice idea. But probably not at a gala where things are likely to go sideways. For tonight, it’s probably safer to bring back-up.

“Yes,” he says. “It’s for a case.”

“The NYPD does have a table at the gala every year, but I’d be happy to come with you, if this is what you’re asking...”

John can feel himself blush. If the NYPD has a table, he doesn’t really need Iris. But now that the idea has sprouted in his mind, he doesn’t want to give it up. It’d be nice to spend the evening in her company, outside her office. Hopefully things will not go sideways too soon...

“Yes, it is what I am asking. Meet you there at seven?”

* * *

It is a bit unconventional, to meet patients outside the office, but then, John is unconventional. When she sees him arrive at the gala, devastatingly gorgeous in his tuxedo and bow tie, she feels her heart melt. He has such a natural presence, she is surprised not to see all the women hitting on him. But as soon as he spots her in the hall of the gala venue, he lights up and walks right to her, giving her his complete attention the entire evening - until things start to go sideways.

He did say it was work related, so she isn’t completely surprised. At least, his company during the dinner makes it absolutely worth it. When he’s not working so hard on his personal issues, John has an easy conversation and a charming sense of humor.

But the second an intruder crashes the party, she loses him.

It’s the second time Iris finds herself watching him in the middle of the action. First it was a shooting in the middle of Manhattan. Now a car bombing during a charity gala. And both times, John Riley was there, formidable, in charge. Clearly in his element.

It’s quite fascinating to watch. As they exit the building after the dinner, even while they retrieve their coats from the cloakroom, John’s attention is clearly on Dr. Edwards, whose presentation ended rather chaotically. Like a hawk, John keeps his eyes on Dr Edwards until all of a sudden, he vanishes. She barely has the time to realize he isn’t by her side that she seems him jump on Dr. Edwards, a fraction of a second before a car explodes in the parking lot.

Heroes don’t exist. In real life, some people occasionally do heroic things. But then they turn back to what they are: normal people. Boring and flawed. John Riley is the exception. John Riley is a hero through and through. He’s exactly what you’d imagine a hero would be. Formidable. Strong. Reliable. Committed.

And devastatingly handsome.

Even as he walks back to her, she can’t help but wonder what it must feel like, to be rescued by John Riley.

“Iris, you okay?” he asks her, slightly short-winded.

“Sure. You?”

He nods shortly. “Yes, everything’s fine. But I need to take Edwards in for questioning.”

She refrains the urge to fix his hair which has been ruffled by the action. Instead, she simply straightens the collar of his coat.

“No problem, Detective. I’ll see you on Friday for your session?”

John smiles.

“See you on Friday, doc.”

* * *

She fired him.

She’s _referring him to another doctor_ , she said _._ A polite way to say she’s getting rid of him.

John feels betrayed.

He had never talked about Jessica to anyone before. Harold _knows_ about Jessica, like he knows about everything. The Machine told him. But they don’t talk about their pasts. They are both private people and each of them respects that.

But for the first time, John had found someone he could talk to - or at least that’s what he thought. What a fool he has been, thinking he could trust her with the dark secrets of his past. He opened up about Jessica and about New Rochelle. Of course he didn’t give away any specifics, but he said enough that she understood what he did. And now she’s afraid of him. What was he thinking? She’s a civilian. She has a blessedly normal and violence-free life. They don’t live in the same worlds. They’re different species, as Kara would say.

It was a mistake to think he could talk to her. But he wanted to. She was right, he needed to learn how to grieve. Shaw’s disappearance was a painful reminder that no matter what he did, he could not avoid loss. But he knows one thing for sure: he doesn’t want to fall down that same dark path as he had after he lost Jessica. And again after Joss. He thought that maybe, with Iris’ help, he could learn how to deal with it better.

And it was working. While it was true that each session left him emotionally exhausted, he also found that he had been more at peace with himself lately. Iris was truly helping him. They had a connection. It had been so long since he had the opportunity to be this close to someone who wasn’t part of the team. He’s been alone for years, living in secret. In the CIA first, now with Harold. But somehow, his cover as Detective John Riley has allowed him to make new encounters. Iris is one of them. Beyond therapy, he enjoys her company. She is smart, funny, intuitive, challenging. She is beautiful, too, John can’t deny that. She has a way to tilt her head and smile when she teases him that makes him feel funny inside. And she did seem to enjoy his company as well. There was an ease between them. And despite his struggles, he had found he was looking forward to his sessions with Iris. They were like a safe haven, far from the chaos of the fight against Samaritan, of always being in hiding, of pretending, being constantly on the lookout. With Iris, finally he had found a place to let his guard down.

And this is what he gets in return.

He’s surprised how much it hurts. He hadn’t really realized how fond he is of her. He doesn’t want another therapist. He wants her.

It’s pointless anyway. If she can’t handle him, who else would?

* * *

“So you’re not afraid of me?” John asks defiantly, and Iris’ heart breaks a little.

It’s something John is very good at hiding, but she has seen it surface occasionally: his problem with his self-image. He’s ashamed of who he is. She first noticed it when she accused him of enjoying shooting people. His attitude changed completely.

“No, I don’t,” he had retorted, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I hate it. But that’s what I’m good at, and it’s what I have to do.”

It was his first earnest comment. One that was particularly revealing of John’s personality.

By now, they’ve had enough sessions for Iris to have a better handle on him. Thankfully, he had decided to drop his guard and he’s shown a real will to work on his issues, even though it clearly was a difficult thing for him. And from what she’s seen, she can tell John _is_ a dangerous man - probably quite deadly, even - but all his violence seems to be exclusively directed toward the criminals he’s chasing. With her, with anyone at the station or the people he aims to protect, John has always been courteous and gentle. He makes a clear distinction between good and bad people. So unless she was plotting something against him, Iris is confident she is safe with John.

So, no. She’s not afraid of him. Not in the sense that she thinks he could harm her.

What she is afraid of are her own feelings. She’s an experienced therapist. She’s trained to recognize and protect herself from transference. She tried doing the right thing, referring John to a different therapist. John took it very badly. Of course, it played right into his idea that he was too scary and too damaged to be heped, or to be loved.

Iris simply wanted to correct him in his belief that she was rejecting him. That’s why she asked him to come to her office to talk. But now, she is cornered. On the one hand, admitting the truth would be quite unprofessional. But on the other hand, if she does not, John will feel rejected, which would probably hinder all the progress he has made since starting therapy with her. So, she opts for the truth. After all, they’re both rational adults, he can understand the situation.

“I have feelings for you, John.”

She tries to explain, she tries to be rational, but she realizes she’s just babbling now. She tries to ignore the desire growing inside of her. She wants to kiss him, cuddle against his large, welcoming chest. He’s really not making it easy for her, standing there, adorably awkward, clearly taken off guard by her confession. He’s keeping his lovely blue-green eyes locked on her, but his expression is unreadable. He doesn’t come forward, nor does he walk away. Does this mean the feelings could be mutual? If he doesn’t make his move, she’ll have to. At least she’ll know where she stands.

Before she knows it, she’s kissing him. He’s hesitant, he kisses her back but withdraws slightly to look at her. She’s made a mistake. She thought he was attracted to her too, that there was something between them. But she must have been wrong. It was a fantasy. She should have known better than acting on it. Her heart is racing as embarrassment takes over.

She walks away, trying to hide her shame, but he catches her.

“Actually,” he whispers, a smile brushing his lips. “I’m pretty good at keeping secrets.”

And he pulls her back into a kiss. He’s gentle, delicate. His fingers brush her cheek as he kisses her. He’s exactly what she fantasized. A mountain of tenderness.

A knock on her door interrupts them.

They part quickly. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he’s adorable.

“My next patient,” she says.

“I better go, then,” he whispers softly.

He walks to the door but turns back to look at her. “How about a real date, this time. Restaurant of your choice.”

She tilts her head and smiles. “I finish at six.”

He nods and smiles back. She watches him composing himself before opening the door and disappearing into the precinct. Her heart is still racing, but for a different reason. She knows what she just did is ethically wrong. She should feel bad about it. Terrible. But, somehow it makes it all the more exciting. She feels a little rebel, breaking the rules. And John is definitely someone worth breaking the rules for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to SavhCaro for the beta!

Iris slowly emerges from a deep, dream-less sleep. For a minute, she feels disoriented. This does not feel like her bed, nor her pillow. It’s comfortable enough, though the mattress is a bit too firm for her liking. She opens her eyes. A ray of morning light is shining through the large curtain-less windows, making her blink. As her eyes adjust to the light, she sits up and looks around. She’s in John’s loft. He invited her in after their dinner date. She remembers vividly the very pleasant night they spent together, though right now, John was nowhere to be seen. The bed is sitting in a corner of the open-planned loft. In the middle of the space stands a glass dinner table with two chairs. There is a small desk near the bed, and a large corner sofa with a coffee table on the far side of the living room. A few lamps here and there complete the furniture. The place is not exactly empty, though clearly John has a taste for minimalism. Most importantly, Iris notices there is not a single personal object. No photograph, not even a painting or a trinket that could give any hint about his tastes or places he’d been.

A vague  noise is coming from behind a large wooden sliding door, along with the unmistakable smell of bacon, indicating the probable location of the kitchen. 

Those giant windows make the loft really bright, and the morning light gives the place a fantastic look. But Iris does have to wonder who puts their bed in their living room, especially when there are no curtains on the windows. Iris chuckles at the mental image of John running naked to the bathroom in the morning. Feeling a little self-conscious herself,  she swiftly sneaks out of bed and grabs John’s shirt, which she finds among the rest of their clothes scattered on the desk’s chair. She quickly puts it on, rolling the sleeves too long for her and makes her way to the kitchen.

She finds John, all dressed and fresh, making breakfast. The stove is covered in  pans. He’s making an omelet in one, cooking some slices of bacon in another and preparing pancakes in a third one, all at the same time. On the kitchen island, there’s already a stack of steaming pancakes, as well as a large bowl of fresh fruits, a smoking coffee pot, some milk, a jar of orange juice, and everything you’d need for the perfect gourmet breakfast.

“Good morning,” he says with a warm smile. He flips the pancake on the pan and bends down to kiss her. She lingers in the smell of his aftershave, enjoying the delicious softness of his clean-shaven cheeks.

“Good morning.”

He invites her to sit down at the kitchen island and pours a coffee in a mug, which he slides toward her. The kitchen is a sharp contrast with the rest of the loft. The shelves are covered in boxes and cans of all sorts. Spices, herbs, pans, saucers, kitchen utensils of all sizes and shapes.

“I wasn’t sure if you were more savory or sweet for breakfast.  So, I made both. You have some pancakes here, and I’m making an omelet. It’s almost ready.”

Everything looks so tempting. She looks at him with her most irresistible puppy eyes.

“Can I have both?”

John laughs. “Sure.”

She puts a pancake on a plate and adds some chocolate and berries. She takes a bite, it’s delicious. She notices the delicate touch of orange blossom water.

“You are a man of many secrets, John Riley.”

John turns off the stove and puts a couple of bacon slices and half of the omelet on a plate for himself. He adds a few salad leaves and slices of tomatoes and some herbs to season it all, before seating next to Iris. 

“Am I?” he says, with the most innocent look.

“I was expecting you to be the kind of man who comes back with fresh pastries and coffee cups on a cardboard tray. No man will ever be able to live up to such a lovely morning after.”

John grins. “I can go and get you some Starbucks croissants, to set the bar lower for your next date.”

Chuckling, Iris puts another pancake on her plate, this time deciding  for  some maple syrup to go with it. 

“No, I  think I’ll just have to stay with you forever.”

* * *

John watches Iris eat his pancakes with appetite. He reaches out and tucks a strandof hair behind her ear. Just out of bed, with no makeup and her hair tousled by the night, she looks younger than usual, with something pure and innocent about her. 

“Want your half of the omelet?” he asks once she’s done with her pancakes.

Iris hands him  her plate . “Yes, please!”

John grins as he serves her the rest of the  omelet and bacon and takes the last two pancakes for himself. 

“Do you always eat this much for breakfast?”

“Oh no, absolutely not,” she laughs. “I would have to work out so much to keep in shape. But this is all so good. One extravagant morning can’t hurt.”

John notices she’s observing his kitchen with attention. Her gaze goes from the stoves to the shelves back to the kitchen island. She’s turned serious, like she  does during therapy session when she’s processing things.

John smiles. “Finding my kitchen interesting, doc?”

Iris startles, and blushes slightly. “Sorry, John, I didn’t mean to analyze you this early in the morning.”

“It’s okay,” he says, amused. “What are you making of it?”

“I find it striking that your kitchen is so furnished and homey, while the rest of your apartment is so bare and devoid of anything personal. Which is not surprising, given your habits of secrecy. But the kitchen here, it is personal, isn’t it? It shows something of the real you.”

“I’ve always cooked,” John admits. “My mom was a great  cook, she made the best dishes. She’s taught my sister and me when we were kids. I guess it stayed with me. Cooking brings me comfort.”

“It is your way of keeping a connection to your mother? And you sister, as well?” 

The memory of himself and Sophie attempting to make pancakes while making a _huge_ mess in the kitchen of their old house brings a soft smile to his face.

“It was Mother’s Day. My sister and I had decided to make breakfast for our mom. We were still living in  Pullayup at the time, so I was probably  eight and Sophie would have been six. We got the proportions wrong, the dough was too watery. Then, she sneezed and we had left the flour bag opened.” John laughs, mimicking the cloud of flour. “There was flour everywhere. It was a disaster, but we did get a couple of ‘approximate’ pancakes made and mom loved it.”

“I’m sure she  did, ” Iris laughs.

John pauses. Here he is again, sharing old childhood memories with Iris. “It’s funny,” he says soflty. “I don’t know what it is about you. I can’t help but tell you those things about me, about those moments of happiness.”

He’s not sure what to make of it. Is it Iris, is it because of the therapy? He hasn’t felt this close to someone since Jessica. It feels like he’s reconnecting with a lost version of himself, one that he shed a long time ago to become John Reese. This is making him vaguely anxious, uncomfortable. 

Iris is looking at him expectantly, probably hoping for him to share more, though she’s polite enough not to push. But John does not feel like  sharing any further. Sharing happy childhood memories over breakfast is nice. But he doesn’t want to ruin the moment by having to explain all the tragedies that have paved his life, or this breakfast is going to turn into a therapy session.

“Enough about me,” he states, chasing away the melancholy that threatens to take him over. “Your turn. You said your dad and your brothers were all cops, what about your mom?”

“Fair enough,” Iris says with a smile. She is not duped. She knows perfectly well he redirected a conversation that was threatening to become too personal, but she’s a good sport and takes her turn sharing personal details. 

“My mom retired last year. She was a psychiatric nurse, working in a children’s hospital. Not an easy job, but she was dedicated to all those wonderful kids. She truly has a gift with children.”

“So you’re like the perfect mix between your mom and your dad.”

Iris chuckles. “Except for the children part. I always feel so clumsy and awkward around them. Every time we have a family thing and I find myself with my nephews, I just don’t know how to handle myself.”

* * *

After such a delightfully outrageous breakfast, Iris helps John do the dishes before taking a quick shower. She tries very hard not to think too much about the fact she’s now officially sleeping with a patient. They’ll have to keep a low profile at the office, though she’s sure John will be fine with it. He’s a master at keeping secrets. She’s more worried about her family and friends. Assuming they’ll reach that stage where they meet each other’s friends and family, they’ll have to explain how they met. She already knows those who will be judgy. Not that their opinions matter that much to to her, except for her father’s. He’s always been very by-the-book. Iris smiles despite herself, picturing her dad frowning disapprovingly about John’s maverick manners. She’ll have to warn John to be careful about what he tells to her dad.

She wants to change into clean clothes before going to work, so he drops her by her apartment. Reluctant to break the spell of this magical morning, she waits for him to be parked before getting to the serious matter that they need to discuss.

She turns to him and locks her eyes  in his. “John,” she says, “as a professional, I must advise you to continue therapy.”

John  tenses and looks away, pursing his lips as he  anticipat es what she’s going to say.

“I can refer you to a friend of mine,” she continues. “He’s an excellent therapist and -“

John cuts her off. “I don’t want another shrink,” he says, pouting.

“John, I can’t be your girlfriend and your therapist.”

He sighs, looking away. “I know but… I just need someone to talk to. It doesn’t have to be therapy. I can’t talk to just anyone. I trust  _ you _ . It’s easy to talk to you.”

“ Of course, we can talk, John. And I’m honored that you feel like you can trust me. I know it is not something that comes easily to you. I will always be here for you, whatever you need to talk about. But a proper therapy would greatly benefit you.”

John nods. Tensed up, he keeps his eyes fixed on an invisible point beyond the car’s windshield. She perfectly understands his reluctance. It’s more than a simple matter of trust. John has a violent past, and while he is protected by patient-doctor confidentiality, she can see why he’d rather not share certain things with just anyone. On the other hand, this violent side is something that does seem to bother him and it’d be very important for him to work on this particular issue.

She reaches out and caresses his cheek, trying to ease his tension. He leans in her touch and finally looks back at her. She leans over and kisses him on the lips.

“We’ll figure it out,” she says gently. “I’ll see you around the precinct.”

“Have a good day, Sweetheart,” he says, and a loving smile has finally reappeared on his lips as he watches her  exit the car.

* * *

John unlocks the door of his apartment and pushes the door open. He frees himself from his long and heavy woolen coat and hangs it in the entrance. With a hint of sorrow, he stares at the bloody hole in the back. He’ll have to buy a new one. Hopefully the store still makes the exact same one. This coat had become part of his Man in the Suit attire – at least during winter – and he had grown attached to it. He makes his way to his bed and drops on his pillow, letting go a long sigh. Who thought hypothermia \- albeit, mixed with significant blood loss \- could be so exhausting.

He reaches for the inside of his jacket and pulls out the old photograph, this precious relic from the past. It’s a bit rough around the edges, but otherwise in good shape. The colors \- like Jessica’s smile \- are still bright. Miraculously, it had been spared from all the blood he spilled last night. He strokes the image from the tip of his fingers, lingering on Jessica. How did Carter come in possession of this picture ? All this time, she had known about Jessica. But they never talked about it.

Joss’ words come back to him. “There's a reason why I kept that photo. It was a side of you I hadn't seen. Happy, hopeful. In love. You can feel that way again, John.”

He  just has to let people in. To let Iris in.

He wonders what Iris would make of what happened last night, his conversation with an imaginary Carter, talking about love, life, surviving.

Exhausted, John has drifted away when his cellphone ringing wakes him up.

He sits up and grabs his phone. It's Fusco.

“What is it, Lionel?”

“Hey partner, I’ve got two dead bodies, likely to be Brotherhood. I could use a hand, if you feel up to it.”

“Sure, send me the address, I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

Before leaving the apartment, John goes to his desk next to the window. He picks a book from the top drawer and slides inside his photograph, next to the drawing young Darren made him. Iris is wrong, his place is not completely devoid of personal things. They are just out of sight.


End file.
